


Chasing Satisfaction

by mldrgrl



Series: Adventures of The Lady Detective and The Writer [29]
Category: Californication (TV), The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Family Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 04:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: Hank and Stella announce the change in the status of their relationship





	Chasing Satisfaction

It was dark and rainy outside, so they’d overslept.  Both their internal alarms were off.  Hank’s from being in twelve cities in two weeks and Stella’s from jet lag.  The grey skies didn’t help.

 

Hank was just about a minute slower than Stella to get out of bed.  He groaned and flung an arm over his head when she turned the light on, but knew he had to get moving if he didn’t want to be late to brunch with Becca.  He finally rolled out of bed and stepped into the black pair of jockey shorts crumbled on the floor from the night before.  Scratching his chest and yawning, he stumbled towards the bathroom.

 

Stella was at the sink, washing her face.  Her hair was clipped up off her neck.  Her silk robe was tied at her waist.  Hank paused inside the doorway to watch.  The small diamond ring on her finger winked at him when she put her left hand down to search for the towel she’d set on the counter.  

 

He’d wanted to take her to Tiffany’s, but she preferred a vintage jewelry shop in Providence she’d found online.  She’d chosen something she referred to as ‘practical.’  It wouldn’t have been Hank’s choice, but she was the one who was going to wear it, so he didn’t really care.  He didn’t know what a ‘European cut’ was, or what ‘diamond-set shoulders’ were.  He did like the sound of ‘sleek, knife-edge ring shank,’ though.  The salesman seemed reluctant to admit it was ‘only .78 carats,’ but it hadn’t seemed to deter Stella, so it hadn’t deterred Hank either.

 

Hank raised his arms and leaned his elbows against the doorjamb as he watched Stella pat her face dry.  He rubbed his thumb against the silver band on his own finger, twisting it around and around, not yet used to its weight.

 

“I’d like to tell Becca today,” he said.

 

“Of course,” Stella answered, voice slightly muffled by the towel.

 

“I’m just not sure what I’m going to say.”

 

Stella wiped her hands dry and then turned around and leaned against the sink.  He could see the outline of her hardened nipples under her robe and his cock twitched slightly.  She hadn’t put on her bra yet, obviously.  He wondered if she was wearing underwear or if she was completely naked.

 

“Whatever you want to say is up to you,” Stella said.

 

“Have any suggestions?”

 

Stella pushed away from the sink and stepped up close to Hank.  She ghosted her hands over his chest and down his abdomen.  With the tip of her index fingernail, she snapped the elastic on his shorts lightly and then rested her hands on his love handles.

 

“You’ll think of something,” she said.  “We need to finish getting ready or we’ll be late.”

 

He growled at her and leaned forward, still braced against the doorjamb, as she turned back to the sink.  She took her toothbrush and toothpaste out of the medicine cabinet and Hank got down on his knees behind her as she started brushing.  He pushed her robe up and bent his head to lick the back of her thigh as his hands moved up her legs.  It turned out, she was wearing underwear, lacy and pale pink.  He had her robe up around her hips when he sank his teeth into the underside of her left cheek.

 

Stella grunted and out of pure reflex, her right foot kicked up, heel bumping into Hank’s thigh dangerously close to his groin.  He chuckled and caught her ankle, letting go of her hip to drop a protective hand over his dick.  He rubbed her achilles tendon as he lowered her foot back to the tile.  

 

“Police brutality,” Hank said.

 

“Self defense,” Stella countered around her toothbrush.

 

As Stella leaned over to spit and rinse, Hank gripped the countertop on either side of her hips and stood up, pressing himself against her.  He rubbed his pelvis against her ass and reached up to cup her silky breasts with both hands as she hunched over the sink.

 

“Honestly,” Stella said, straightening and bring the back of her hand across her mouth.

 

“Don’t tell me the honeymoon’s over already.”  He moved one hand down to her hip and reached inside her robe to feel her skin.

 

“We’re to be downtown in half an hour.”

 

“I’ll I need is five minutes.”

 

Stella reached around and dipped her hand inside Hank’s shorts.  He hummed and tweaked her nipple, but she withdrew her hand after one light squeeze.  His mind had been on what to tell Becca for the last day and his arousal was weak.

 

“Tease,” he mumbled, letting her go as she squirmed out of his grasp.

 

“Get dressed.  We’ll fuck later.”

 

“What a romantic proposal.”

 

In the cab ride over, Hank contemplated what to say to Becca.  When he’d said it to Stella, it made sense.  When he thought about telling Becca, it seemed ridiculous.  Married in the head also sounded crazy in the head.

 

The streets were like rivers from the rain and the sidewalks weren’t much better.  Hank paid the cab driver and then held the umbrella open over the door as Stella slid across the street.  She grimaced as their boots sloshed in the puddles and he offered her his hand to help her jump the gutter.  Surprisingly, she left his hand in his and he ran his thumb over the unfamiliar ridges of her ring before he opened the door to the cafe Becca had chosen to meet them at.

 

The interior was brick walls and high-backed, dark wood booths.  Low, orange lighting gave off a false sense of night.  It smelled like freshly baked bread and coffee.  Hank dropped his soaking umbrella into a bucket by the door with an assortment of other dripping umbrellas and scanned the booths for Becca while Stella stomped her feet on a doormat.

 

Becca was in a booth near the back, a book propped up in her hand.  Hank pointed her out and then hurried over to the table, calling her name when he got closer.  Becca closed her book and slid out from the booth to be crushed in Hank’s embrace.  Stella hugged her as well after shedding her coat and hanging it on a hook just outside the booth.

 

“How was the tour?” Becca asked, as Stella slid into one side of the booth and Hank followed.

 

“Like a tour,” he answered.  “Some kid in San Francisco asked me if you were working on anything new.  Are you working on anything new?”

 

“What did you tell him?”

 

“Her.  I said I didn’t know.”  

 

“A collection of short stories right now.”

 

“That’s great.”

 

Becca’s head tipped to the right and her eyes narrowed slightly in a look of confusion.  “Oh my fucking god,” she said.

 

“Language!” Hank said.

 

“Oh, please,” Becca answered.  Her stare was pointedly directed at Stella's hand, the fingers wrapped around the complimentary glass of water that was sitting in front of her.  “Are you engaged?”

 

“Well, no,” Hank said.

 

Becca’s eyes bounced over to his hand and this time they grew round and surprised.  “Are you fucking  _ married _ ?” she hissed.

 

“Yeah, yes, kind of,” Hank stammered.  “I was thinking about what to tell you.”

 

“When did this happen.”

 

“Uh, yesterday?”  Hank looked to Stella and she shrugged.  “Well, that's when we got the rings.  I guess we could say in Boston.  Wednesday night?  Thursday morning?”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Because asked.

 

Stella rested her hand on Hank’s thigh and gave him a light squeeze.  “We've agreed to commit,” she said.  “Without adding any legal complications to it.”

 

“Hey guys,” a waitress appeared suddenly, pulling an order pad out of a black apron around her waist.  “Can I get you anything to drink?”

 

Hank and Becca ordered bottomless mimosas.  Stella wants coffee.  The waitress took the extra silverware away before she left and Becca slumped back in her seat.

 

“Then you're not actually married,” Becca said, a sudden sadness creeping into her voice.  “And you don't have any intention of getting married?”

 

“This is married for us,” Hank answered.

 

“Why can't you ever just follow rules for once?” she mumbled, lowering her head slightly.  “Be normal.”

 

“Fuck normal.  Normal is overrated.  And I got news for you, darling daughter, you're an artist now.  You're not ever going to be normal.”

 

“Hank,” Stella said, fingers digging into his thigh.

 

“What?”

 

Stella ignored him and took her hand away, clasping her fingers on top of the table and leaning forward slightly.  “Becca,” she said, “you've a perfect right to be upset. Perhaps we should have requested your input before we made any decisions.”

 

“No,” Hank said.  “She's an adult with her own life.”

 

“And she will always be your child,” Stella said, mildly.  “We should have extended the courtesy.”

 

“I thought you liked Stella,” Hank said.

 

“Fuck you,” Becca whispered.  Her eyes welled with tears and she fled the table.

 

“Becca!”

 

“Don't,” Stella said, taking a strong grip on Hank’s arm as he made a move to go after his daughter.

 

“She can't just…”

 

“Yes, she can.  Give her a few minutes and then let me speak with her.”

 

“I've got two mimosas and one coffee,” their waitress interrupted, smiling cheerfully as she put their drinks down.  “Were we ready to order or do we need a few more minutes?”

 

“ _ We _ need something stronger than this,” Hank caustically spat into his glass.

 

“Just a few minutes,” Stella told the waitress.  She glared at Hank after the young girl left.  “I'd slap you if I didn't think you'd enjoy it too much.”

 

“What?  I don't know what to do anymore, she is  _ never _ happy.”

 

“Neither are you,” Stella said, quietly.  She pushed on his side to let her out of the booth and he slid out with a sigh.  

 

While Stella was tending to Becca in the bathroom, Hank drank his mimosa and then he drank Becca’s too.  After a few minutes, his head dropped down like a kicked puppy.  He felt morose, but chagrined.  Things had not gone well and it was his fault.  Just like old times.  He'd tried to hard to be better than that, but Becca’s sour reaction had put a cloud over him.  He’d looked at her and all he saw was that moody, sulky, petulant teenager that declared he'd fucked up her life on a daily basis.

 

Hank flagged down the waitress and silently passed her the two empty mimosa glasses.  She glanced at the empty table as she took the glasses and hesitated before she said she'd be right back with refills.  Fresh drinks were on the table before Stella and Becca returned, as though they'd been waiting there the whole time.

 

“I'm an asshole,” Hank said, rising from his side of the booth as the two approached. 

 

“Yes, you are,” Stella agreed, waving him back down to sit.  “But, we forgive you.”

 

Becca slid into the booth and Stella slipped in as well on her side.  She shook her head slightly at Hank and gestured for him to pass her the coffee.  

 

“Becca was saying the vegetarian omelette is quite good,” Stella said.  She added a packet of sugar to her coffee and stirred it slowly.  “Did you have a chance to peruse the menu?”

 

“Dad likes the crepes,” Becca said, her gaze directed mostly at the brick wall.

 

“I do like a good crepe.”

 

Brunch was subdued.  The food was good, but their appetites were weak.  It wasn't until Hank was paying the check that Becca spoke directly to him.

 

“Have you told mom,” she asked.

 

“Not yet,” Hank answered.  “I'll call her when we get back to the loft.”

 

Becca felt stiff to Hank when he hugged her goodbye.  She wouldn't let him hail her a cab, said she preferred the subway and didn't mind the rain.  He watched her walk away as Stella flagged down the cab.  Once they were alone inside the back seat and the only sound was the windshield wipers and Taxi TV, the curiosity overwhelmed him.

 

“What did you say to her?” Hank asked.

 

“Tell me what you believe the issue was,” Stella answered. 

 

“She doesn't want us to be married.”

 

“I know you pride yourself on being very observant, however you're not very perceptive.”

 

“When it comes to Becca, I've always been at s loss.”

 

“No, don't sell yourself short in that way.  You just need to listen more.”

 

“Does she think I'll get back together with Karen?”

 

“Hank,” Stella admonished, shaking her head.  “That's a fantasy for a child.  Becca’s not a child.”

 

“Spell it out for me Sherlock, obviously I'm not the detective in the family.”

 

“Ah,” Stella said, nodding.  “Now you're getting warmer.”

 

Hank drummed his fingers on the armrest on his side of the door.  He gave a huff of frustration and set his jaw.

 

“I asked her if we seemed to fit the mold of her vision of a traditional marriage.  She admitted that no, we did not.”

 

“What's her vision of traditional marriage?”

 

“I don't know.  Maybe you should ask her sometime.”

 

“So she's upset because she wants us to have a traditional marriage?”  Hank gave Stella an incredulous look.

 

“Try again.”

 

Hank was quiet for the rest of the cab ride, mulling over the finer details of the brunch conversation, unraveling it in his head, trying to add things up.  Women were so fucking infuriating sometimes with their mysteriousness and expectations of mind reading.  And since when did Stella play those games with him?  She was usually blunt with him, preferring to be direct and not waste time.

 

“For the record,” Hank said, turning to Stella as they rode up the service elevator to the loft, “I'm deliriously fucking happy, so you're wrong about that.  I'm so happy it's a wonder you haven't heard me whistling out my asshole.”

 

“That would be quite a feat,” Stella replied.  “Perhaps unsatisfied is a more accurate description.”

 

“Why would you say that?”  Hank nearly went speechless and the elevator lurched to a stop as he stuttered to protest.

 

Stella opened the doors and shrugged lightly.  “This shouldn't come as a surprise to you,” she said.  “You chase satisfaction like it's a drug, always needing it, always wanting it. I've always known, I've always understood, I've always accepted it.  It's merely a fact, Watson, not a criticism.”

 

“Well, so do you.”

 

“Yes, I know.”

 

Hank grabbed Stella by the hips as she turned to walk away.  “Tell me what I'm missing because I don't want to keep doing this and one of the things I love about you the most is that you're always honest with me.”

 

“She would like to be a part of our lives, but she thinks you push her away.”

 

“That's crazy, you know I'd-”

 

Stella reached up and placed her hand over Hank’s mouth.  “ _ I _ know how you feel.”

 

“She said this to you?”

 

“Sometimes it's what people don't say.”  Stella raised up and kissed the corner of Hank's mouth.  “I need to shower.  I'm damp from the rain.”

 

Hank let Stella go and stood in the middle of the room in contemplation.  He went over to the windows and watched the rain stream down as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to call Karen.  She picked up on the third ring, sounding hollow and distracted.

 

“Hey,” she said.  “You're on speaker, we’re putting together kabobs for a barbecue.  Did you have brunch with Becca?”

 

“Hey, Hank!” Fish called out.

 

“It isn't raining there?” Hank asked.

 

“Just spittin’,” Fish yelled.  “Ain't gonna stop me.”

 

“Hope you don't get what we have,” Hank answered.  “Cats and dogs down here.  Yes, I had brunch with Becca.  I think you might need to call her when we hang up.”

 

“Why?”  There was a slightly exasperated edge in Karen's voice.  “What did you do?”

 

“Stella and I are married.”

 

“What!?” Karen yelled.

 

“‘Bout fuckin’ time!” Fish called out.  “Congratufuckinlations!”

 

“Are you being serious?” Karen asked.

 

“Yeah.  We got rings yesterday.”

 

“Yesterday?  So the wedding hasn't happened yet?”

 

“We’re not...we didn't want a wedding.  Just to be married.”

 

“What does that even mean?”

 

“It just means we're married.  Call Becca because I could've done better explaining it.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Hank, come up and we’ll put on some lobstah!”

 

“Next time, Fish.  I have to go.”

 

“Hank!” Karen called.

 

“What?”

 

“I just...I'm happy for you.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Hank disconnected the call and put his phone down on the table next to the couch.  He started stripping off his clothes on the way to the shower, leaving a trail from the couch to the bathroom door.  Stella would be pissed, but she'd get over it.  He'd call Becca later or he'd go over to her apartment and try to make it up to her.  Right now he had something else he had to do though.

 

“Hey,” Hank said, opening the door to the shower stall and slipping in behind Stella.

 

“Close the door,” she said.  “You're letting out all the steam.”

 

“Yes, dear,” he said.

 

Stella turned, dousing her head in the spray and then wiping her face clear of water.  “Did you call Karen?”

 

“I did.”  Hank stepped close and put his arms around Stella, getting more wet from her body than the shower which was directed at her back.  

 

“Fare any better?”

 

“Fish wants us to come up for lobstah.”

 

“Any excuse to put something on a grill seems to delight him.”

 

“I'm not even quite sure I know how to turn one on.”

 

“You have enough skill turning other things on.”

 

“Are you one of the other things?” he growled lightly and pushed his hips into hers.

 

“I might be.”  

 

“Are you happy?”

 

“You must know I wouldn't be here if I wasn't.”  She put her hands on his chest and he reached up for her left wrist to pull her hand away and inspect her ring.  Water dripped down her fingers and over the diamonds.  

 

“It looks good on you,” he said.

 

“I was thinking the same,” she said.  “Now, shut up and kiss your wife.”

 

The End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
